


A Thousand Words

by p0ck3tf0x



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Photography, Referenced Pornography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0ck3tf0x/pseuds/p0ck3tf0x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A picture is worth a thousand words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Tumblr in 2013.
> 
>  
> 
> The story itself is exactly a thousand words. I sort of like this one. It reminded me that everyone has a story to tell and that sometimes photographs tell the best stories. You should never presume.

Matthew knelt over the model and tried not to drop the camera into his lap.  He could see how he had managed to step over ten thousand other candidates.  He was a little older, maybe, a little bolder…  And he was absolutely breathtaking.

It was the first time Matthew had ever met an albino.

He perched between his legs and tried to focus on his camera, on the weight of it around his neck, but it was difficult.

Gilbert Beilschmidt.  The next top model…

Matthew had spent the last eight years of his life surrounded by beautiful, talented socialites, actors, and models.  He could hold his own, as long as he remembered to hold his tongue, and he had carved a space for himself as a photographer.  And he was good at it too…  One of the best.  He had a knack for it.  A gift.

But this model unnerved him; upset and unbalanced him.  His hands were sweating and he kept fumbling the shutter.  There was something about his eyes, impossibly deep and red…

Gilbert was beautiful.  And terrifying. 

And Matthew was awestruck.

“…  Are you alright?”  Gilbert mumbled from underneath him, shirtless and spread out over silk pillows.  He reached up and pulled on one of his curls.  “‘Cause y’ look like you’re about to faint.”

Matthew blinked.  How long had he been daydreaming? 

“Ah.  No.  I’m just…”

“Distracted.”

He swallowed, waiting for the model to reprimand him; to shout or scream or throw a tantrum.  He had worked in the industry long enough to know what happened next…

Which is why he was so surprised when Gilbert tumbled back into the pillows, laughing and squirming beneath him.  He laughed like a trickster, like a raven or coyote; unrestrained and unrepentant with hiccupping sighs and snorts. 

Matthew decided that he liked his laugh.  It was unique.  Just like him. 

“I am not.  Well…  Not really.  It’s…  You’re very striking.”

Gilbert wiggled lower and grinned up at him.  His natural smile, so unlike the one he wore on magazine covers, was crooked and dimpled.  It softened his eyes.

“I know,” he said bluntly, and it somehow came across as honest rather than conceited. 

Matthew curled around his camera and adjusted the levers now that he had stopped shaking.  He could do this.

The studio was deserted, besides the two of them, and the wind whistled through the curtains as it passed.  Their breathing seemed loud to his ears and their conversation seemed to bounce off the exposed pipes and beams of the converted warehouse. 

“How long have you been modelling?” Matthew asked, searching for something, anything to say.  He had the feeling that Gilbert would start telling inappropriate jokes if he let the silence stretch on for too long.  He just seemed like the type.

“Three years professionally,” Gilbert shrugged.  Matthew tried to ignore the way his muscles pulled and trembled with the motion.  “I spent a year and a half in pornography before that.”

Matthew hummed under his breath and wondered what kind of reaction Gilbert expected from him.  He would not get it.  Matthew had worked on the same sets when he was nineteen, behind the camera instead of in front of it.  It paid well enough but it was demeaning and unpleasant and most of the actors were abused or hooked on cocaine.

“Why’d you leave?”

Gilbert shrugged again and Matthew chewed on his lip.  He had never dealt with a model that was so effortlessly, unapologetically distracting.

“I kicked the habit.”

Matthew glanced down at his forearms and saw the faintest lines and scars beneath the cosmetics.  He would have to keep that in mind if he decided to change the lighting.

“Oh…”

Gilbert frowned, misinterpreting the quiet sound as judgement rather than the understanding that it was.  He sat up.

“As if you’ve never…”  He started, defensive.  Matthew cut him off.

“I tried to kill myself when I was fourteen.  Again, when I was sixteen.  I’ve snorted, smoked, and injected a whole lot of red, white, and blue.  I’ve done things I’m not proud of so…  Do _not_ presume that you know anything about me, Mr. Beilschmidt.”  The words, so personal and private, spilled past his lips and echoed as he looked up.  He met his eyes for the first time.  “ _Because you don’t know me_.” 

He held his gaze for a long time, and he wondered if his own eyes were just as intense as his.  Then Gilbert chuckled and settled back against the pillows. 

“You’re right.  You’re right, of course.  But I think that I want to.”

He smirked, trailing one hand over his thigh as Matthew pressed down on the shutter.  He knew that he had just managed to capture Gilbert Beilschmidt as no one had ever seen him before; open and flirtatious and perhaps just the slightest bit surprised.  He looked like himself for once.

He was still beautiful.  

Matthew checked the viewfinder and murmured happily to himself.  It was a perfect photograph, worth a thousand or more words.

“You can go now,” he said absently, still staring at the photograph.  “We’re done.”

“You only took one.”

“I only needed one.”

He tore his gaze from the viewfinder and settled on Gilbert instead.  He looked bemused.  His fingers itched to raise the camera again and capture the expression.

That was new for Matthew.  He usually lost interest in his subjects after he photographed them, after he captured that perfect moment.  He had a strange feeling that he could photograph Gilbert year after year and never lose interest.

Huh.

“I don’t want to leave yet.”

“…  Then don’t,” Matthew whispered, wanting to test his theory.

They stared at each other for a long time.  Matthew had never met anyone quite like Gilbert.  And, if the way he was leaning in was anything to go by, he had never met anyone like Matthew.

Gilbert deliberately settled his hand on his thigh and squeezed.  Matthew let him.  He raised his camera.

Gilbert smiled.

“I won’t.”


End file.
